

Book__L^kl_ 



COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 



ODES AND OTHER POEMS 




THE POEMS OF WILLIAM WATSON. 



New Edition, Rearranged by the Author. 
With Additions and a New Portrait. 12mo, 
gilt top. Price, $1.25. 

Also an Edition de Luxe, printed on English 
hand-made paper, 8vo. Price, $3.50. 



ODES 



AND OTHER POEMS 



BY 

WILLIAM WATSON 



f' 



>' 



MACMILLAN AND CO. 

AND LONDON 
1894 

All rights reserved 



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0. 






CiV\^ 



Copyright, 1894, 
By MACMILLAN AND CO. 



NortooDli 5lrf»S: 

J. S. Gushing & Co. — Berwick & Smitk. 

Boston, Mass., U.S.A. 



CONTENTS 

PAGE 

TO RICHARD HOLT HUTTON . . . . .3 
Yes, I have had my griefs; and yet 

TO H. D. TRAILL . . . . . . .5 

Traill, at whose board 'tis good to sit 

TO ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON ... 15 
In that grave shade august 

TO LICINIUS 20 

Licinius, wouldst thou wisely steer 

THE FIRST SKYLARK OF SPRING ... 23 

Two worlds hast thou to dwell in, Sweet 

LAKELAND ONCE MORE 28 

Region, separate, sacred, of mere, and of ghyll, and 
of mountain 

V 



vi CONTENTS 

PAGE 

DOMINE, QUO VADIS? 35 

Darkening the azure roof of Nero's world 

VITA NUOVA 47 

Long hath she slept, forgetful of delight 

THE FRONTIER 50 

At the hushed brink of twilight, — when, as though 

SONNET . . .52 

I think the immortal servants of mankind 

THE PROTEST 54 

Bid me no more to other eyes 

A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 56 

By cliff and chine, and hollow-nestling wood 

• 

SONG IN IMITATION OF THE ELIZABETHANS . 62 
Sweetest sweets that time hath rifled 

TO A FRIEND 64 

True lover of the Past, who dost not scorn 

AFTER THE TITANS 66 

England, in good Victoria's latter reign 



CONTENTS vii 

PAGE 

PEACE AND WAR 68 

The sleek sea, gorged and sated, basking lies 

THE IDEAL POPULAR LEADER .... 70 
He is one who counts no public toil so hard 

TO A LADY RECOVERED FROM A DANGEROUS 

SICKNESS 72 

Life plucks thee back as by the golden hair 

TO 73 

Forget not, brother singer ! that though Prose 

THE RIVALS 74 

Man's good and evil angels came to dwell 

A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM 76 

God save our ancient land 

THE SIXTY-FIVE ELEMENTS 79 

Master, I marvel not at all, that these 

A NEW YEAR'S PRAYER 81 

In the blanched night, when all the world lay frore 

FRANCE 84 

Light-hearted heroine of tragic story 



viii CONTENTS 

PAGE 

THE SOVEREIGN POET .86 

He sits above the clang and dust of Time 

MALIGN BEAUTY 88 

A face like morning, with a heart of night 

TO ONE WHO HAD WRITTEN IN DERISION OF 

THE BELIEF IN IMMORTALITY ... 90 

Dismiss not so, with light, hard phrase and cold 

CHRISTMAS DAY 92 

The morn broke bright : the thronging people wore 

THE WORLD IN ARMOUR 

i. Under this shade of crimson wings abhorred . 94 
ii. When London's Plague, that day by day enrolled 96 
iii. A moment's fantasy, the vision came . . .98 

TO AUBREY DE VERE 100 

Poet, whose grave and strenuous lyre is still 

WRITTEN IN A COPY OF MR. STEVENSON'S 

'CATRIONA' 102 

Glorious Sir Walter, Shakespeare's brother-brain 



CONTENTS ix 

PAGE 

TELL ME NOT NOW 104 

Tell me not now, if love for love 

NIGHT ON CURBAR EDGE 106 

No echo of man's life pursues my ears 

THE SAINT AND THE SATYR . . . .108 
Saint Anthony the eremite 

LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMOND PARK . .111 
Lady, were you but here ! 

A RIDDLE OF THE THAMES 113 

At windows that from Westminster 



ODES 



TO RICHARD HOLT HUTTON 

Yes, I have had my griefs ; and yet 
I think that when I shake off life's annoy, 
I shall, in my last hour, forget 
All things that were not joy. 

Have I not watched the starry throngs 

Dance, and the soul of April break in bud ? 

Have I not taken Schubert's songs 

Into my brain and blood ? 
3 



4 , ODES 

I have seen the morn one laugh of gold ; 
I have known a mind that was a match for Fate ; 
I have wondered what the heavens can hold 
Than simplest love more great. 

And not uncrowned with honours ran 
My days, and not without a boast shall end ! 
For I was Shakespeare's countryman ; 
And wert not thou my friend ? 



TO H. D. TRAILL 

Traill, at whose board 'tis good to sit, 
And take no thought of hours that flit 
Fledged with the tongues of bard and wit - 

(Though none, or few, 
The latter title may befit 

So well as you) — 

'Tis now a twelve-months' space and more 

Since feet of mine have sought your door. 

There where one fancies London's roar 

Long leagues away, 
5 



6 ODES 

And Thames an old-time-haunted shore 
Keeps to this day. 

For I, with course 'twere hard to trace, 
Have southward, northward, set my face, 
Coy to the vast and vague embrace 

Of London's arms. 
The siren's all-too-liberal grace 

And venal charms. 

Daily on matron, man, and maid. 
The dome of Wren hath cast its shade. 
But I beyond its beck have strayed 

By land and sea ; 
And you a hundred mots have made 

Unheard by me ! 



TO H. D. TRAILL 

The loser I. Yet mine some gain 
From vagrant hours of sun and rain, 
And steps that still by mount or plain 

Carried a mind 
To one thing constant, as the vane 

Is to the wind — 

The service of that mistress hard 
To whom a fixed and sole regard 
Your vowed and dedicated bard 

Dares not refuse. 
Would he at last the least reward 

Win from his Muse. 

For still we rhymers, great or small, 
Must gather, would we live at all, 



ODES 

Such casual manna as may fall, 

A niggard meed, 
On mortals whom the immortals call 

But seldom feed. 

And so, perhaps with fond pretence 
That to the force of sheer, immense, 
Importunate lyric opulence 

Our lays are due, 
We publish all our soul for pence — 

Ay me, how few ! 

Happiest and best of singers he. 
Who, in Art's bondage greatly free. 
Can harvest, from all things that be. 
Grist for the mill 



TO H. D. TRAILL 

Whose wheel a copious Castaly 
Turns at his will. 

Whate'er we know, whate'er we dream, 
All things that are, all things that seem, 
All that in Nature's Academe 

Her graduates learn. 
Was Bacon's province, Shakespeare's theme, 

Goethe's concern. 

The poem, well the poet knows. 

In ambush lurks where'er he goes, — 

Lisps hidden in each wind that blows. 

Laughs in each wave. 
Sighs from the bosom of the rose, 

Wails from the grave. 



10 ODES 

And Orphic laws of lute and verse 
All the symphonious worlds coerce, 
That hour by hour their parts rehearse, 

Winds, strings, and reeds, 
In this orchestral universe 

The Maestro leads. 

But though all life and death and birth, 
And all the heaven's enzoning girth. 
Earth, and the waters 'neath the earth. 

Are Song's domain, 
Nor aught so lowly but is worth 

The loftiest strain, — 

'Tis from those moods in which Life stands 
With feet earth-planted, yet with hands 



TO H. D. TRAILL H 

Stretched toward visionary lands, 

Where vapours lift 
A moment, and aerial strands 

Gleam through the rift, 

The poet wins, in hours benign. 
At older than the Delphic shrine, 
Those intimations faint and fine. 

To which belongs 
Whatever character divine 

Invest his songs. 

And could we live more near allied 
To cloud and mountain, wind and tide, 
Cast this unmeaning coil aside, 
And go forth free, 



12 ODES 

The World our goal, Desire our guide, — 
We then might see 

Those master moments grow less rare, 

And oftener feel that nameless air 

Come rumouring from we know not where ; 

And touch at whiles 
Fantastic shores, the fringes fair 

Of fairy isles ; 

And hail the mystic bird that brings 
News from the inner courts of things, 
The eternal courier-dove whose wings 

Are never furled ; 
And hear the bubbling of the springs 

That feed the world. 



TO H. D. TRAILL 13 

You smile at this too soaring strain ? 
Well, in the smile is no disdain ; 
And if a more terrestrial vein 

Befit my rhyme — 
I promise not to soar again, 

At least, this time. 

And sooth to say, a humbler end 

This verse was meant to serve, O friend : 

For since to you I may not wend 

(Such leagues deter 
The else not laggard feet), I send 

This messenger; 

And bid him tarry not, but flee, 
And greet you well where'er you be ; 



14 



41 



ODES 



And pray he may not piteously 

Faint by the road — 
Of good regards for thine and thee 

So large his load. 



TO ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON 

In that grave shade august 
That round your Eton clings, 

To you the centuries must 
Be visible corporate things, 

And the high Past appear 

Affably real and near. 
For all its grandiose airs, caught from the mien 
of Kings. 

The new age stands as yet 

Half built against the sky, 

V Open to every threat 

Of storms that clamour by : 
15 



16 ODES 

Scaffolding veils the walls, 
And dim dust floats and falls, 
As, moving to and fro, their tasks the masons 

ply- 
But changeless and complete, 

Rise unperturbed and vast, 
Above our din and heat, 

The turrets of the Past, 
Mute as that city asleep. 
Lulled with enchantments deep, 
Far in Arabian dreamland built where all 

things last. 

Who loves not to explore 
That palace of Old Time, 



TO ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON 17 

Awed by the spires that soar 

In ghostly dusk subUme, 
And gorgeous-windowed halls, 
And leagues of pictured walls, 
And dungeons that remember many a crimson 

crime ? 



Yet, in those phantom towers 
Not thine, not mine, to dwell, 

Rapt from the living hours 
By some rich lotus-spell ; 

And if our lute obey 

A mode of yesterday, 
'Tis that we deem 'twill prove to-morrow's 
mode as well. 



18 ODES 

This neighbouring joy and woe — 
This present sky and sea — 

These men and things we know, 
Whose touch we would not flee — 

To us, O friend, shall long 

Yield aliment of song: 
Life as I see it lived is great enough for me. 

In high relief against 

That reverend silence set, 

Wherein your days are fenced 
From the world's peevish fret. 

There breaks on old Earth's ears 

The thunder of new years, 
Rousing from ancient dreams the Muse's 
anchoret. - 



TO ARTHUR CHRISTOPHER BENSON 19 

Well if the coming time, 

With loud and strident tongue, 

Hush not the sound of rhyme. 
Drown not the song half sung, 

Ev'n as a dissonant age 

Choked with polemic rage 
The starriest voice that e'er on English ears 
hath rung, 

And bade her seer awhile 

Pause and put by the bard. 
Till this tormented isle, 

With feuds and factions jarred. 
Some leisure might regain 
To hear the long-pent strain 
Re-risen from storm and fire, immortal and 
unmarred. 



TO LICINIUS 

HORACE, ODES, II., X. 

LiciNius, wouldst thou wisely steer 

The pinnace of thy soul. 
Not always trust her without fear 

Where deep-sea billows roll ; 
Nor, to the sheltered beach too near, 

Risk shipwreck on the shoal. 

Who sees in fortune's golden mean 

All his desires comprised, 
Midway the cot and court between, 

Hath well his life devised ; 

20 



TO LICINIUS 21 

For riches, hath not envied been, 
Nor, for their lack, despised. 

Most rocTcs the pine that soars afar. 
When leaves are tempest-whirled. 

Direst the crash when turrets are 
In dusty ruin hurled. 

The thunder loveth best to scar 
The bright brows of the world. 

The steadfast mind, that to the end 

Is fortune's victor still. 
Hath yet a fear, though Fate befriend, 

A hope, though all seem ill. 
Jove can at will the winter send, 

Or call the spring at will. 



22 ODES 

Full oft the darkest day may be 

Of morrows bright the sire. 
His bow not everlastingly 

Apollo bends in ire. 
At times the silent Muses he 

Wakes with his dulcet lyre 

When life's straits roar and hem thee sore, 

Be bold; naught else avails. 
But when thy canvas swells before 

Too proudly prospering gales, 
For once be wise with coward's lore. 

And timely reef thy sails. 



} 



THE FIRST SKYLARK OF SPRING 

Two worlds hast thou to dwell in, Sweet, — 

The virginal, untroubled sky. 
And this vext region at my feet. — 
Alas, but one have I ! 

To all my songs there clings the shade, 

The dulling shade, of mundane care. 
They amid mortal mists are made, — 
Thine, in immortal air. 

My heart is dashed with griefs and fears ; 

My song comes fluttering, and is gone. 

23 



24 ODES 

O high above the home of tears, 
Eternal Joy, sing on! 

Not loftiest bard, of mightiest mind. 

Shall ever chant a note so pure. 
Till he can cast this earth behind 

And breathe in heaven secure. 

We sing of Life, with stormy breath 

That shakes the lute's distempered string 
We sing of Love, and loveless Death 
Takes up the song we sing. 

And born in toils of Fate's control. 

Insurgent from the womb, we strive 
With proud, unmanumitted soul 
To burst the golden gyve. 



THE FIRST SKYLARK OF SPRING 25 

Thy spirit knows nor bounds nor bars ; 
On thee no shreds of thraldom hang : 
Not more enlarged, the morning stars 
Their great Te Deum sang. 

But I am fettered to the sod, 

And but forget my bonds an hour ; 
In amplitude of dreams a god, 

A slave in dearth of power. 

And fruitless knowledge clouds my soul, 

And fretful ignorance irks it more. 
Thou sing'st as if thou -knew'st the whole, 
And lightly held'st thy lore! 

Somewhat as thou, Man once could sing, 
In porches of the lucent morn, 



I 



26 ODES 

Ere he had felt his lack of wing, 
Or cursed his iron bourn. 

The springtime bubbled in his throat, 

The sweet sky seemed not far above. 
And young and lovesome came the note ; — 
Ah, thine is Youth and Love ! 

Thou sing'st of what he knew of old. 

And dreamlike from afar recalls ; 
In flashes of forgotten gold 
An orient glory falls. 

And as he listens, one by one 

Life's utmost splendours blaze more nigh ; 
Less inaccessible the sun, 

Less alien grows the sky. 



i 



THE FIRST SKYLARK OF SPRING 27 

For thou art native to the spheres, 

And of the courts of heaven art free, 
And earnest to his temporal ears 
News from eternity; 

And lead'st him to the dizzy verge, 

And lur'st him o'er the dazzling line, 
Where mortal and immortal merge. 
And human dies divine. 



LAKELAND ONCE MORE * 

Region separate, sacred, of mere, and of ghyll, 
and of mountain, 
Garrulous, petulant beck, sinister, laughter- 
less tarn ; 
Haunt of the vagabond feet of my fancy for 
ever reverting. 
Haunt and home of my heart, Cumbrian 
valleys and fells ; 
Yours of old was the beauty that rounded my 
hours with a nimbus, 
Touched my youth with bloom, tender and 
magical light ; 

* Copyright, 1894, by Macmillan & Co. 



LAKELAND ONCE MORE 29 

You were my earliest passion, and when shall 
my fealty falter? 
Ah, when Helvellyn is low! ah, when Wi- 
nander is dry ! 
For had I not dwelt where Nature but prat- 
tled familiar language, 
Trite the theme and the word, prose of the 
hedges and lanes ? 
Here she spake to my spirit in lofty and 
resonant numbers, 
Rhythms of epical mood, silences great as 
her song. 
Time hath scattered his gifts ; and Death, he 
hath taken his tribute : 
East and west have I fared, hitherward, 
thitherward blown ; 



30 ODES 

Watched in jewelled midnight the Mediter- 
ranean twinkling ; 
Watched, from Como's wave, pinnacled sum- 
mits on fire ; 
Heard the tempest beleaguer the bases of 
savage Tantallon ; 
Heard the thundering tide crash on Devonian 
shores : 
And fair and stormy fortune my life's little 
pinnace hath weathered, 
Shattering onsets of joy, shocks of calamity, 
borne; 
Mine hath been good unstinted, nor niggard 
my portion of evil ; 
Friendships mine and hates, love and a 
whisper of fame : 



LAKELAND ONCE MORE SI 

But ever to you I return, O land in the dusk 
of whose portals 
Rustles my Past like leaves, memories brush 
me as wings. 
Meets me my alien phantom, the self that is 
dead, that is vanished. 
Echoes meet me and dreams, shadows that 
sigh and depart; 
And ever, O meres and valleys, an aureole 
haunts you of roselight. 
Glamour of luminous hours, wraith of my 
passion of old. 
And the brows of eternal Helvellyn are flushed 
with a virginal rapture, 
Lit with the glow of my youth, crimsoned 
with dawn of my day. 



DOMINE, QUO VADIS? 



'1 






DOMINE, QUO VADIS ? * 

A LEGEND OF THE EARLY CHURCH 

Darkening the azure roof of Nero's world, 
From smouldering Rome the smoke of ruin 

curled ; 
And the fierce populace went clamouring — 
* These Christian dogs, 'tis they have done this 

thing ! ' 
So to the wild wolf Hate were sacrificed 
The panting, huddled flock whose crime was 

Christ. 

* Copyright, 1894, by Macmillan & Co. 



36 DOMINE, QUO VADIS ? 

Now Peter lodged in Rome, and rose each 

morn 
Looking to be ere night in sunder torn 
By those bUnd hands that with inebriate zeal 
Burned the strong Saints, or broke them on 

the wheel, 
Or flung them to the lions to make mirth 
For dames that ruled the lords that ruled the 

earth. 
And unto him, their towering rocky hold. 
Repaired those sheep of the Good Shepherd's 

fold 
In whose white fleece as yet no blood or foam 
Bare witness to the ravening fangs of Rome. 
' More light, more cheap,' they cried, * we hold 

our lives 



A LEGEND OF THE EARLY CHURCH 37 

Than chaff the flail or dust the whirlwind drives : 
As chaff they are winnowed and as dust are 

blown ; 
Nay, they are naught; but priceless is thine 

own. 
Not in yon streaming shambles must thou die; 
We counsel, we entreat, we charge thee, fly ! ' 
And Peter answered : * Nay, my place is here ; 
Through the dread storm, this ship of Christ I 

steer. 
Blind is the tempest, deaf the roaring tide, 
And I, His pilot, at the helm abide.' 

Then one stood forth, the flashing of whose 
soul 
Enrayed his presence like an aureole. 



38 DO MINE, QUO VADIS? 

Eager he spake; his fellows, ere they heard, 
Caught from his eyes the swift and leaping 

word. 
*Let us, His vines, be in the wine-press trod, 
And poured a beverage for the lips of God; 
Or, ground as wheat of His eternal field, 
Bread for His table let our bodies yield. 
Behold, the Church hath other use for thee; 
Thy safety is her own, and thou must flee. 
Ours be the glory at her call to die, 
But quick and whole God needs His great ally.' 
And Peter said : * Do lords of spear and shield 
Thus leave their hosts uncaptained on the field, 
And from some mount of prospect watch afar 
The havoc of the hurricane of war.^ 
Yet, if He wills it. . . . Nay, my task is plain, — 



A LEGEND OF THE EARLY CHURCH 39 

To serve, and to endure, and to remain. 
But weak I stand, and I beseech you all 
Urge me no more, lest at a touch I fall.' 

There knelt a noble youth at Peter's feet. 
And like a viol's strings his voice was sweet. 
A suppliant angel might have pleaded so. 
Crowned with the splendour of some starry woe. 
He said : * My sire and brethren yesterday 
The heathen did with ghastly torments slay. 
Pain, like a worm, beneath their feet they trod. 
Their souls went up like incense unto God. 
An offering richer yet, can Heaven require } 
O live, and be my brethren and my sire.' 
And Peter answered : * Son, there is small need 
That thou exhort me to the easier deed. 



40 no MINE, QUO VADIS? 

Rather I would that thou and these had lent 
Strength to uphold, not shatter, my intent. 
Already my resolve is shaken sore. 
I pray thee, if thou love me, say no more.' 

And even as he spake, he went apart. 
Somewhat to hide the brimming of his heart. 
Wherein a voice came flitting to and fro. 
That now said ' Tarry ! ' and anon said * Go ! ' 
And louder every moment, ' Go ! ' it cried, 
And * Tarry ! ' to a whisper sank, and died. 
And as a leaf when summer is o'erpast 
Hangs trembling ere it fall in some chance 

blast, 
So hung his trembling purpose and fell dead; 
And he arose, and hurried forth, and fled, 



A LEGEND OF THE EARLY CHURCH 41 

Darkness conniving, through the Capuan Gate, 
From all that heavien of love, that hell of hate, 
To the Campania glimmering wide and still. 
And strove to think he did his Master's will. 

But spectral eyes and mocking tongues pur- 
sued, 

And with vague hands he fought a phantom 
brood. 

Doubts, like a swarm of gnats, o'erhung his 
flight, 

And 'Lord,* he prayed, *have I not done 
aright ? 

Can I not, living, more avail for Thee 

Than whelmed in yon red storm of agony ? 

The tempest, it shall pass, and I remain. 



42 DOMINE, QUO VADIS ? 

Not from its fiery sickle saved in vain. 
Are there no seeds to sow, no desert lands 
Waiting the tillage of these eager hands, 
That I should beastlike 'neath the butcher fall, 
More fruitlessly than oxen from the stall ? 
Is earth so easeful, is men's hate so sweet. 
Are thorns so welcome unto sleepless feet. 
Have death and heaven so feeble lures, that I, 
Choosing to live, should win rebuke thereby ? 
Not mine the dread of pain, the lust of bliss ! 
Master who judgest, have I done amiss?' 

Lo, on the darkness brake a wandering ray : 
A vision flashed along the Appian Way. 
Divinely in the pagan night it shone — 
A mournful Face — a Figure hurrying on — 



A LEGEND OF THE EARLY CHURCH 43 

Though haggard and dishevelled, frail and 

worn, 
A King, of David's lineage, crowned with 

thorn. 
*Lord, whither farest?' Peter, wondering, cried. 
*To Rome,' said Christ, *to be re-crucified.' 

Into the night the vision ebbed like breath ; 
And Peter turned, and rushed on Rome and 
death. 



SONNETS, LYRICS, 

AND 

MISCELLANEOUS PIECES 



VITA NUOVA 

Long hath she slept, forgetful of delight : 
At last, at last, the enchanted princess. Earth, 
Claimed with a kiss by Spring the adventurer. 
In slumber knows the destined lips, and 

thrilled 
Through all the deeps of her unageing heart 
With passionate necessity of joy. 
Wakens, and yields her loveliness to love. 

O ancient streams, O far-descended woods 

Full of the fluttering of melodious souls ; 

O hills and valleys that adorn yourselves 

In solemn jubilation ; winds and clouds, 

47 



48 SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 

Ocean and land in stormy nuptials clasped, 
And all exuberant creatures that acclaim 
The Earth's divine renewal : lo, I too 
With yours would mingle somewhat of glad 

song. 
I too have come through wintry terrors, — yea. 
Through tempest and through cataclysm of 

soul 
Have come, and am delivered. Me the Spring, 
Me also, dimly with new life hath touched. 
And with regenerate hope, the salt of life ; 
And I would dedicate these thankful tears 
To whatsoever Power beneficent, 
Veiled through his countenance, undivulged 

his thought. 
Hath led me from the haunted darkness forth 



VITA NUOVA 49 

Into the gracious air and vernal morn, 
And suffers me to know my spirit a note 
Of this great chorus, one with bird and stream 
And voiceful mountain, — nay, a string, how 

jarred 
And all but broken ! of that lyre of life 
Whereon himself, the master harp-player, 
Resolving all its mortal dissonance 
To ohe immortal and most perfect strain. 
Harps without pause, building with song the 

world. 

March i8, 1893. 



THE FRONTIER * 



At the hushed brink of twilight, — when, as 
though 
Some solemn journeying phantom paused 

to lay 
An ominous finger on the awestruck day, 
Earth holds her breath till that great presence 

go,— 
A moment comes of visionary glow, 

Pendulous 'twixt the gold hour and the 

grey, 
Lovelier than these, more eloquent than 
they 
Of memory, foresight, and life's ebb and flow. 

* Copyright, 1894, by Macmillan & Co. 



THE FRONTIER 51 

So have I known, in some fair woman's face, 
While viewless yet was Time's more gross 

imprint, 
The first, faint, hesitant, elusive hint 
Of that invasion of the vandal years 
Seem deeper beauty than youth's cloudless 
grace. 
Wake subtler dreams, and touch me nigh 
to tears. 



SONNET 

I THINK the immortal servants of mankind, 

Who, from their graves, watch by how slow 

degrees 

The World-Soul greatens with the centuries, 

Mourn most Man's barren levity of mind, 

The ear to no grave harmonies inclined, 

The witless thirst for false wit's worthless 

lees, 

The laugh mistimed in tragic presences. 

The eye to all majestic meanings blind. 

52 



SONNET 53 

O prophets, martyrs, saviours, ye were great, 
All truth being great to you : ye deemed 
Man more 
Than a dull jest, God's ennui to amuse : 
The world, for you, held purport : Life ye 
wore 
Proudly, as Kings their solemn robes of state ; 
And humbly, as the mightiest monarchs 
use. 



THE PROTEST 

Bid me no more to other eyes 
With wandering worship fare, 

And weave my numbers garland-wise 
To crown another's hair. 

On me no more a mandate lay 

Thou wouldst not have me to obey! 

Bid me no more to leave unkissed 

That rose-wreathed porch of pearl. 

Shall I, where'er the winds may list, 

Give them my life to whirl ? 
54 



THE PROTEST 55 

Perchance too late thou wilt be fain 
Thy exile to recall — in vain ! 

Bid me no more from thee depart, 

For in thy voice to-day 
I hear the tremor of thy heart 

Entreating me to stay ; 
I hear . . . nay, silence tells it best, 
O yielded lips, O captive breast ! 



A STUDY IN CONTRASTS * 

I 

By cliff and chine, and hollow-nestling wood 
Thrilled with the poignant savour of the sea. 
All in the crisp light of a wintry morn, 
We walked, my friend and I, preceded still 
By one whose silken and voluminous suit, 
His courtly ruff, snow-pure 'mid golden tan. 
His grandly feathered legs slenderly strong, 
The broad and flowing billow of his breast, 
His delicate ears and superfine long nose, 
With that last triumph, his distinguished tail. 
In their collective glory spoke his race 
The flower of Collie aristocracy. 

* Copyright, 1894, by Macmillan & Co. 



I 



A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 57 

Yet, from his traits, how absent that reserve, 
That stillness on a base of power, which marks, 
In men and mastiffs, the selectly sprung ! 
For after all, his high-life attributes, 
His trick of doing nothing with an air, 
His salon manners and society smile, 
Were but skin-deep, factitious, and you saw 
The bustling despot of the mountain flock, 
And pastoral dog-of-all-work, underlie 
The fashionable modern lady's pet, — 
Industrial impulses bereft of scope, 
Duty and discipline denied an aim, 
Ancestral energy and strenuousness 
In graceful trifling frittered all away. 
Witness the depth of his concern and zeal 
About minutest issues : shall we take 



58 SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 

This part or that? — it matters not a straw — 

But just a moment unresolved we stand, 

And all his personality, from ears 

To tip of tail, is interrogative ; 

And when from pure indifference we decide. 

How he vociferates ! how he bounds ahead ! 

With what enthusiasm he ratifies. 

Applauds, acclaims our choice 'twixt right and 

left, 
As though some hoary problem over which 
The world had puckered immemorial brows. 
Were solved at last, and all life launched anew ! 

These and a thousand tricks and ways and traits 
I noted as of Demos at their root. 
And foreign to the staid, conservative. 



A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 59 

Came-over-with-the-Conqueror type of mind. 

And then, his nature, how impressionable, 

How quickly moved to Collie mirth or woe. 

Elated or dejected at a word ! 

And how unlike your genuine Vere de Vere's 

Frigid, indifferent, half-ignoring glance 

At everything outside the sacred pale 

Of things De Veres have sanctioned from the 

Flood, 
The unweariable curiosity 
And universal open-mindedness 
Of that all-testing, all-inquisitive nose ! 

II 

So, to my friend's house, back we strolled ; 
and there — 



60 SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 

We loitering in the garden — from her post 
Of purview at a window, languidly 
A great Angora watched his Collieship, 
And throned in monumental calm, surveyed 
His effervescence, volatility, 
Clamour on slight occasion, fussiness 
Herself immobile, imperturbable, 
Like one whose vision seeks the Immanent 
Behind these symbols and appearances. 
The face within this transitory mask. 
And as her eyes with indolent regard 
Viewed his upbubblings of ebullient life. 
She seemed the Orient Spirit incarnate, lost 
In contemplation of the Western Soul ! 
Ev'n so, methought, the genius of the East, 
Reposeful, patient, undemonstrative, 



A STUDY IN CONTRASTS 61 

Luxurious, enigmatically sage, 
Dispassionately cruel, might look down 
On all the fever of the Occident ; — 
The brooding mother of the unfilial world, 
Recumbent on her own antiquity, 
Aloof from our mutations and unrest. 
Alien to our achievements and desires, 
Too proud alike for protest or assent 
When new thoughts thunder at her massy 

door; — 
Another brain dreaming another dream. 
Another heart recalling other loves, 
Too grey and grave for our adventurous hopes, 
For our precipitate pleasures too august. 
And in majestic taciturnity 
Refraining her illimitable scorn. 



SONG IN IMITATION OF THE 
ELIZABETHANS 

Sweetest sweets that time hath rifled. 
Live anew on lyric tongue — 

Tresses with which Paris trifled, 
Lips to Antony's that clung. 

These surrender not their rose, 

Nor their golden puissance those. 

Vain the envious loam that covers 

Her of Egypt, her of Troy : 

Helen's, Cleopatra's lovers 

Still desire them, still enjoy. 
62 



IN IMITATION OF THE ELIZABETHANS 65 

Fate but stole what Song restored : 
Vain the aspic, vain the cord. 

Idly clanged the sullen portal, 

Idly the sepulchral door : 
Fame the mighty, Love the immortal. 

These than foolish dust are more : 
Nor may captive Death refuse 
Homage to the conquering Muse. 



TO A FRIEND 

UNITING ANTIQUARIAN TASTES WITH 
PROGRESSIVE POLITICS 



True lover of the Past, who dost not scorn 
To give good heed to what the Future saith, — 
Drinking the air of two worlds at a breath, 
Thou livest not alone in thoughts outworn. 
But ever helpest the new time be born. 
Though with a sigh for the old order's death ; 
As clouds that crown the night that perisheth 

Aid in the high solemnities of morn. 

64 



TO A FRIEND ti 

Guests of the ages, at To-morrow's door 
Why shrink we ? The long track behind us 
lies, 
The lamps gleam and the music throbs before, 
Bidding us enter : and I count him wise, 
Who loves so well Man's noble memories 
He needs must love Man's nobler hopes yet 
more. 



AFTER THE TITANS 

England, in good Victoria's latter reign, 

Two potent councillors by turns have led, 

Little alike in build of heart or head, 

Yet owning this resemblance, — that the twain 

Are visibly of Britain's ancient strain, 

Sprung of the lineage of her stalwart dead. 

Strong souls and massive, such as England 

bred 

In the brave day that cometh not again. 

66 



AFTER THE TITANS 67 

To these succeeds another, newer race, 

Men light and slight, on narrower scale de- 
signed, 
Offspring and image of the change we trace 
In art, arms, action, manners, morals, 
mind, — 
The burly oak departing, in its place 
The lissom willow, swaying to the wind. 



PEACE AND WAR 

The sleek sea, gorged and sated, basking lies; 

The cruel creature fawns and blinks and 
purrs ; 

And almost we forget what fangs are hers, 
And trust for once her emerald-golden eyes ; 
Though haply on the morrow she shall rise 

And summon her infernal ministers, 

And charge her everlasting barriers, 
With wild white fingers snatching at the skies. 



So, betwixt Peace and War, man's life is cast, 

Yet hath he dreamed of perfect Peace at last, 

68 



PEACE AND WAR 69 

Shepherding all the nations ev'n as sheep. 
The inconstant, moody ocean shall as soon, 
At the cold dictates of the bloodless moon, 

Swear an eternity of halcyon sleep. 



THE IDEAL POPULAR LEADER 

He is one who counts no public toil so hard 

As idly glittering pleasures ; one controlled 

By no mob's haste, nor swayed by gods of 

gold; 

Prizing, not courting, all just men's regard; 

With none but Manhood's ancient Order 

starred, 

Nor crowned with titles less august and old 

Than human greatness ; large-brained, limpid- 

souled ; 

Whom dreams can hurry not, nor doubts 

retard ; 

70 



THE IDEAL POPULAR LEADER 71 

Born, nurtured of the People ; living still 
The People's life ; and though their noblest 
flower, 
In nought removed above them, save 
alone 
In loftier virtue, wisdom, courage, power, 
The ampler vision, the serener will. 

And the fixed mind, to no light dallyings 
prone. 



TO A LADY RECOVERED FROM A 
DANGEROUS SICKNESS 



Life plucks thee back as by the golden 
hair — 
Life, who had feigned to let thee go but 
now. 
Wealthy is Death already, and can spare 
Ev'n such a prey as thou. 
72 



TO 



Forget not, brother singer! that though 
Prose 
Can never be too truthful or too wise, 
Song is not Truth, not Wisdom, but the rose 
Upon Truth's lips, the light in Wisdom's 
eyes. 

73 



I 

I 



THE RIVALS 

Man's good and evil angels came to dwell 
As housemates, at his board and hearth 

alway ; 
One, secret as the night, one, frank as day. 
Both lovely, and in puissance matched full 

well. 
Each hourly strove her sleepless foe to quell. 
And ever and anon the bright fiend lay 
Foiled, and her countenance, racked with 
sick dismay, 
Changed, and its tyrannous beauty masklike 

fell. 

74 



THE RIVALS 75 

Ah, could man's thought for ever fix and stay 
That glimpse of horrors he might quake to 

tell, 
'Twere easy, then, the temptress to repel! 
But 'neath the glorious mask and brave array 
How shall he know thee, leprous witch of 
hell. 
Robed to allure and fanged to rend and slay? 



A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM 

God save our ancient land, 
God bless our noble land, 

God save our land ! 
Yea, from war's pangs and fears. 
Plague's tooth and famine's tears, 
Ev'n unto latest years, 

God save our land ! 

God bless our reigning race ! 

Truth, honour, wisdom, grace. 

Guide their right hand ! 
76 



A NEW NATIONAL ANTHEM 77 

Yet, though we love their sway, 
England is more than they : 
God bless their realm, we pray, 
God save our land ! 

Too long the gulf betwixt 
This man and that man fixt 

Yawns yet unspanned. 
Too long, that some may rest, 
Tired millions toil unblest. 
God lift our lowliest, 

God save our land ! 

God save our ancient land, 
God bless our noble land, 
God save our land ! 



78 SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 

Earth's empires wax and wane, 
Man's might is mown as grain : 
God's arm our arm sustain ! 
God save our land ! 



I 



THE SIXTY-FIVE ELEMENTS 

( Written after reading Lord Salisbury's Address at the 
British Association^ 

Master, I marvel not at all, that these 
Mock at the wit that would their meaning seize. 
A maiden's sigh — the descant of a bird — 
Me with triumphant riddles taunt and tease. 

I well believe, despite of all he knows, 

The wonder of the sweetness of a rose. 

The wonder of the wild heart of a song, 

Shall shame man's foolish wisdom to the close. 

79 



80 SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 

The secrets of the gods are from of old 
Guarded for ever and for ever told, — 

Blabbed in all ears, but published in a 
tongue 
Whose purport the gods only can unfold. 



A NEW YEAR'S PRAYER 

In the blanched night, when all the world lay 

frore, 
And the cold moon, the passionless, looked 

down 
Commiserating man the passion-curst — 
Man made in passion and by passion marred — 
Through the pale silence, on the New Year's 

verge, 

This prayer fled forth, and trembled up to 

heaven : — 
G 8i 



82 SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 

'O Thou whose dwelling is eternity; 
Who seest the hunger and the toil of men, 
And how the love of life and wife and babe 
Is brother of hate and sire of deeds of death; 
Give peace — give peace: peace in our time, O 
Lord ! 

* But if we needs must march to peace through 

war. 
Spare not the sowers who amid Thy corn 
Mingled the lethal seed of this red flower; 
The whirlwind let them reap who sow the wind 
Make terrible Thine arm against all thieves 
Whether in mart or on imperial throne ; 
And scatter with Thy thunder the unjust 
Who turn thy pleasance to a wilderness 



A NEW YEAR'S PRAYER 83 

To battlefields Thy vineyard, with mailed feet 
Trampling the joyous vine of life in blood. 

* Purge and renew this England, once so fair, 
When Arthur's knights were armed with 

nobleness, 
Or Alfred's wisdom poised the sacred scales ; 
Yea, and in later times, when Liberty, 
Her crowned and crosiered enemies combating. 
Stood proudlier 'stablished by a false king's fall. 
Mighty from Milton's pen and Cromwell's sword. 
Terribly beauteous, passionately just. 
Seared with hell's hate, and in her scars 

divine.* 

New Year's Eve, 1892. 



FRANCE 

JUNE 25, 1894* 

Light-hearted heroine of tragic story 1 

Nation whom storm on storm of ruining 

fate 
Unruined leaves, — nay, fairer, more elate, 
Hungrier for action, more athirst for glory ! 
World-witching queen, from fiery floods and 
gory 
Rising eternally regenerate, 

* The day after the murder of Carnot. 
84 



FRANCE 85 

Clothed with great deeds and crowned with 
dreams more great 
Spacious as Fancy's boundless territory! 

Little thou lov'st our island, and perchance 
Thou heed'st as little her reluctant praise ; 
Yet let her, in these dark and bodeful days. 
Sinking old hatreds 'neath the sundering 
brine. 
Immortal and indomitable France, 

Marry her tears, her alien tears, to thine. 






THE SOVEREIGN POET 

He sits above the clang and dust of Time, 
With the world's secret trembling on his lip. 
He asks not converse nor companionship 
In the cold starlight where thou canst not 
climb. 

The undelivered tidings in his breast 

Suffer him not to rest. 

He sees afar the immemorable throng, 

And binds the scattered ages with a song. 

86 



THE SOVEREIGN POET 87 

The glorious riddle of his rhythmic breath, 
His might, his spell, we know not what they be : 
We only feel, whate'er he uttereth, 
This savours not of death. 
This hath a relish of eternity. 



I' 



MALIGN BEAUTY 

A FACE like morning, with a heart of night ! 

Not though in deserts fanged with death 

thou roam, 

Or couch 'mid monsters of the ooze and 

foam, 

Shalt thou be blasted with so dread a sight 

As when a soul whose errand is to blight 

And shatter, makes a glorious body its home, 

Foul tenant of a stately palace-dome. 

Imperial towers, and gardens of delight. 

88 



MALIGN BEAUTY 89 

Look through her windows ! See, — a pilgrim 
guest 
Is feasted by the bounteous chatelaine. 
Fledged are the hours with wine and song 

and jest. 
The morrow cometh. Shall he rise and hie 
Forth on his way .-* He grasps his staff in 
vain, 
In her deep dungeons flung, to rot and die. 



TO ONE WHO HAD WRITTEN IN 
DERISION OF THE BELIEF IN 
IMMORTALITY 

Dismiss not so, with light, hard phrase and 
cold, 

'Ev'n if it be but fond imagining, 

The hope whereto so passionately cling 
The dreaming generations from of old ! 
Not thus, to luckless men, are tidings told 

Of mistress lost, or riches taken wing ; 

And is eternity a slighter thing. 

To have or lose, than kisses or than gold ? 

90 



BELIEF IiV IMMORTALITY 91 

Nay, tenderly, if needs thou must, disprove 
My loftiest fancy, dash my grand desire 
To see this curtain lift, these clouds retire. 

And Truth, a boundless dayspring, blaze above 
And round me ; and to ask of my dead sire 

His pardon for each word that wronged his love. 



CHRISTMAS DAY 

The morn broke bright: the thronging people 

wore 

Their best ; but in the general face I saw 

No touch of veneration or of awe. 

Christ's natal day? 'Twas merely one day 

more 

On which the mart agreed to close its door ; 

A lounging-time by usage and by law 

Sanctioned ; nor recked they, beyond this, 

one straw 

Of any meaning which for man it bore ! 

92 



CHRISTMAS DAY 93 

Fated among time's fallen leaves to stray, 
We breathe an air that savours of the tomb, 

Heavy with dissolution and decay ; 

Waiting till some new world-emotion rise, 
And with the shattering might of the 
simoom 

Sweep clean this dying Past that never dies. 



THE WORLD IN ARMOUR 

I 

Under this shade of crimson wings abhorred 
That never wholly leaves the sky serene, — 
While Vengeance sleeps a sleep so light, 
between 
Dominions that acclaim Thee overlord, — 
Sadly the blast of Thy tremendous word, 
Whatever its mystic purport may have been, 

Echoes across the ages, Nazarene : 
Not to bring peace Mine errand^ but a sword. 

For lo, Thy world uprises and lies down 

In armour, and its Peace is War, in all 

94 



'the world in armour 95 

Save the great death that weaves War's dread- 
ful crown ; 

War unennobled by heroic pain, 

War where none triumph, none sublimely 
fall. 

War that sits smiling, with the eyes of Cain. 



II 

When London's Plague, that day by day en- 
rolled 
His thousands dead, nor deigned his rage 

to abate 
Till grass was green in silent Bishopsgate, 
Had come and passed like thunder, — still, 

'tis told, 
The monster, driven to earth, in hovels old 
And haunts obscure, though dormant, lin- 
gered late. 
Till the dread Fire, one roaring wave of fate. 

Rose, and swept clean his last retreat and hold. 

96 



THE WORLD IN A. 



In Europe live the dregs of Plague to-day, 
Dregs of full many an ancient Plague and 
dire, 
Old wrongs, old lies of ages blind and 
cruel. 
What if alone the world-war's worldwide 
fire 
Can purge the ambushed pestilence away ? 
Yet woe to him that idly lights the fuel ! 



H 



Ill 

A moment's fantasy, the vision came 
Of Europe dipped in fiery death, and so 
Mounting reborn, with vestal Hmbs aglow, 

Splendid and fragrant from her bath of flame. 

It fleeted ; and a phantom without name, 
Sightless, dismembered, terrible, said : * Lo, 
/ am that ravished Europe men shall know 

After the morn of blood and night of shame.* 

The spectre passed, and I beheld alone 

The Europe of the present, as she stands, 

98 



THE WORLD IN ARMOUR 99 

Powerless from terror of her own vast 
power, 
'Neath novel stars, beside a brink unknown ; 
And round her the sad Kings, with sleepless 
hands, 
Piling the faggots, hour by doomful hour. 



TO AUBREY DE VERE 

Poet, whose grave and strenuous lyre is still 
For Truth and Duty strung; whose art 

eschews 
The lighter graces of the softer Muse, 

Disdainful of mere craftsman's idle skill : 

Yours is a soul from visionary hill 

Watching and harkening for ethereal news, 
Looking beyond life's storms and death's 
cold dews 

To habitations of the eternal will. 

lOO 



TO AUBREY DE VERE 101 

Not mine your mystic creed ; not mine, in 
prayer 
And worship, at the ensanguined Cross to 
kneel ; 
But when I mark your faith how pure and fair, 
How based on love, on passion for man's 
weal, 
My mind, half envying what it cannot share. 
Reveres the reverence which it cannot feel. 



1 



WRITTEN IN A COPY OF 
MR. STEVENSON'S 'CATRIONA' 

Glorious Sir Walter, Shakespeare's brother- 
brain, 
Fortune's invincible victor-victim, Scott, 
Mere lettered fame, 'tis said, esteeming not. 

Save as it ministered to weightier gain, 

Had yet his roseate dream, though dreamed in 
vain ; 
The dream, that, crowning his terrestrial lot, 
A race of great and splendid heirs, begot 

Of his own loins, o'er Abbotsford should reign. 

I02 



WRITTEN IN A COPY OF 'CATRIONA' 103 

Fate spurned his wish, but promised, in amends, 
One mighty scion of his heart and mind : 
And where far isles the languid ocean 
fleck, — 
Flying the cold kiss of our northern wind, — 
Lo the rare spirit through whom we hail as 
friends 
The immortal Highland maid and Alan 
Breck ! 



TELL ME NOT NOW 

Tell me not now, if love for love 

Thou canst return, — 
Now while around us and above 

Day's flambeaux burn. 
Not in clear noon, with speech as clear, 

Thy heart avow, 
For every gossip wind to hear ; 

Tell me not now ! 

Tell me not now the tidings sweet. 

The news divine ; 
104 



TELL ME NOT NOW 105 

A little longer at thy feet 

Leave me to pine. 
I would not have the gadding bird 

Hear from his bough ; 
Nay, though I famish for a word, 

Tell me not now ! 

But when deep trances of delight 

All Nature seal, 
When round the world the arms of Night 

Caressing steal, 
When rose to dreaming rose says, * Deary 

Dearesty — and when 
Heaven sighs her secret in earth's ear, 

Ah, tell me then! 



NIGHT ON CURBAR EDGE* 

No echo of man's life pursues my ears; 

Nothing disputes this Desolation's reign ; 

Change comes not, this dread temple to 
profane 
Where time by aeons reckons, not by years. 
Its patient form one crag, sole stranded, rears. 

Type of whate'er is destined to remain 

While yon still host encamped on night's 
waste plain 
Keeps armed watch, a million quivering spears. 

* Copyright, 1894, by Macmillan & Co. 



NIGHT ON CUR BAR EDGE 107 



Hushed are the wild and wing'd lives of the 



moor; 
The sleeping sheep nestle 'neath ruined wall, 
Or unhewn stones in random concourse 
hurled : 
Solitude, sleepless, listens at Fate's door ; 
And there is built and 'stablisht over all 
Tremendous silence, older than the world. 



THE SAINT AND THE SATYR i * 

Saint Anthony the eremite 

He wandered in the wold, 
And there he saw a hoofed wight 

That blew his hands for cold. 

*What dost thou here in misery, 

That better far wert dead ? ' 
The eremite Saint Anthony 

Unto the Satyr said. 

1 Mediaeval legend. 

* Copyright, 1894, by Macmillan & Co. 



THE SAINT AND THE SATYR 109 

* Lorn in the wold,* the thing replied, 

*I sit and make my moan, 
For all the gods I loved have died, 

And I am left alone. 



' Silent in Paphos Venus sleeps. 
And Jove on Ida mute ; 

And every living creature weeps 
Pan and his perished flute. 



*The Faun, his laughing heart is broke. 
The nymph, her fountain fails ; 

And driven from out the hollow oak 
The Hamadryad wails. 



110 SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 

' A God more beautiful than mine 
Hath conquered mine, they say. — 

Ah, to that fair young God of thine. 
For me I pray thee pray ! ' 




LINES WRITTEN IN RICHMOND 
PARK* 

Lady, were you but here ! 

The Autumn flames away, 

And pensive in the antlered shade I stray. 

The Autumn flames away, his end is near. 

I linger where deposed and fall'n he Hes, 

Prankt in his last poor tattered braveries, 

And think what brightness would enhance the 

Day, 
Lady, were you but here. 
Though hushed the woodlands, though sedate 

the skies, 

* Copyright, 1894, by Macmillan & Co. 



112 



SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 



Though dank the leaves and sere, 

The stored sunlight in your hair and eyes 

Would vernalise 

November, and renew the aged year. 

Lady ! were you but here. 



hi 



A RIDDLE OF THE THAMES* 

At windows that from Westminster 

Look southward to the Lollard's Tower, 

She sat, my lovely friend. A blur 

Of gilded mist, — ('twas morn's first hour),- 

Made vague the world : and in the gleam 

Shivered the half-awakened stream. 

Through tinted vapour looming large, 
Ambiguous shapes obscurely rode. 

She gazed where many a laden barge 
Like some dim-moving saurian showed. 

And 'midst them, lo ! two swans appeared, 

And proudly up the river steered. 

* Copyright, 1894, by Macmillan & Co. 



114 SONNETS, LYRICS, ETC. 

Two stately swans ! What did they there ? 

Whence came they ? Whither would they 
go? 
Think of them, — things so faultless fair, — 

'Mid the black shipping down below ! 
On through the rose and gold they passed. 
And melted in the morn at last. 




Ah, can it be, that they had come 
Where Thames in sullied glory flows, 

Fugitive rebels, tired of some 
Secluded lake's ornate repose, 

Eager to taste the life that pours 

Its muddier wave 'twixt mightier shores ? 




A RIDDLE OF THE THAMES 115 

We ne'er shall know : our wonderment 

No barren certitude shall mar. 
They left behind them, as they went, 

A dream than knowledge ampler far; 
And from our world they sailed away 
Into some visionary day. 



THE POEMS 



OF 



WILLIAM WATSON. 

A New Edition Rearranged hy the Author, with Additions 
and a New Frontispiece Portrait. 



13mo. Cloth, gilt top. $1.25. 



" Is full of the rich charm of genius, and we admire him for 
the English patriotism that thrills through his English song." 

— The Independent. 

" His name will fill a proud place among the poets of his day, 
for his fame will increase with the years, as his poetry is of the 
sort that stands the test of time." — The World. 

" Lovers of poise, felicity, and beauty will find this volume 
worth its weight in gold. It stirs one anew to those ecstasies 
of emotion without which this life, however well regulated by 
reason, becomes a dull round of arid pleasures and vexatious 
pains." — Boston Traveller. 



MACMILLAN & CO., 

66 FIFTH AVENUE, NEW YORK. 



LYRIC LOVE. 

AN ANTHOLOGY. 
Edited by WILLIAM WATSON. 

Golden Treasury Series. 16mo. $1.00. 

" This anthology represents the choicest flowers of English love poetry 
■gathered from three centuries of song. The editor was fastidious, and his 
aim was far from merely collecting love lyrics, for it includes the bringing 
together, whenever practicable, of the best English poetry having love as its 
personal inspiration and objective theme. Thus, many passages, where the 
primal agency was love, have been selected from plays and from narrative 
verse, when they could be detached from the context without impairing their 
integrity. The range of selection is wide, and the anthology is guided by 
the best of taste. * Lyric Love ' forms a good second to the peerless ' Golden 
Treasury ' of Professor Palgrave, and it has the advantage of including some 
beautiful specimens of modern love, and many old songs which have no place 
in other collections." — Public Ledger^ Philadelphia. 



THE ELOPING ANGELS. 

A CAPRICE. 

By WILLIAM WATSON. 
Cloth. Small Square 8vo. 75 cents. 

" It is well executed, and marked with the author's usual lucidity and 
(beauty of expression." — Boston Transcript. 

" Ihe plan and development of this metrical story are novel, and the versi- 
fication is marked by the finish and smoothness which distinguishes all of 
the poet's productions. He is always happy in his choice of phrases to ex- 
press succinctly his meaning; and though the treatment of his subject is in 
the main light and humorous, the work has a more serious purpose that 
•cannot be misunderstood." — Boston Saturday Eveniyig Gazette. 

" The poem is a gem, and ' beneath its somewhat hazardous levity' is a 
:spirit by no means flippant." — Boston Home Journal. 



MACMILLAN & CO., 

66 FIFTH AVENUE, NE'W YORK. 



